


A Widowed Hawk

by MutePoetess



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce wants to kill himself, F/M, Natasha is not a damsel in distress, Suicidal Thoughts, but Clint might kill him first, oh god i'm so sorry again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MutePoetess/pseuds/MutePoetess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avengers AU: In the confusion of the explosion on the helicarrier, Natasha Romanoff is faced with true fear and a monster she cannot win against. Eventually, Bruce has to deal with the knowledge of what he's done, and the knowledge that Clint, who has been freed from Loki's grasp, might kill him before he gets up the courage to do it himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea a few months ago and posted the idea on tumblr, wanting someone to write it. No one did. So I am. I meant it to be a one-shot. But I don't really like writing one-shots longer than about 2,000 words. And this is definitely going to be longer than that. Also, I've noticed that I have a tendency to write self-pitying characters, and I hate it when Natasha is portrayed as a lovestruck damsel in distress, so I tried to avoid that. I don't know if it worked.
> 
> Also, curse my need for movie-accuracy. Sitting here and pausing and unpausing Avengers over and over so I can get all the lines and actions just right.

            It was a stupid quibble, childish really, but Natasha jumped in and was arguing with everyone else. She felt obligated to defend S.H.I.E.L.D.’s position on the weapons research they were doing and the way they managed threats. The volume began to rise along with the tension in the helicarrier’s lab. Tony and Steve were about to come to blows, and everyone was beginning to worry about Bruce. “Agent Romanoff,” Director Fury said, “would you escort Dr. Banner back to his-“

            “Where?” Bruce said testily. “You’re renting my room.” Natasha took a step toward him, ready to forcibly escort him if it became necessary.

            “The cell was just in case-“ Fury began.

            “In case you needed to kill me,” Bruce said, laying out the truth, “but you can’t, I know, _I tried._ ” The room went quiet as everyone stared at Bruce. Natasha felt a little pang of sadness for the scientist. Up until then, she hadn’t really considered what his life must’ve been like, having to try to control the seemingly uncontrollable force within himself. She didn’t usually think about things like that, because it could lead to emotional attachment, and that was never good. “I got low,” he said, breaking the silence and crossing his arms, “I didn’t see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth, and the other guy _spit it out._ ” If not for her training, Nat would’ve winced. She wouldn’t ever tell anyone, but she could relate to being tempted by the allure of staring down a gun barrel. There had been times when she felt like a monster, too. “So I moved on, I focused on helping other people. I was good,” Bruce continued angrily, his hands beginning to reach behind him to the table where Loki’s scepter lay. “Until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk. You want to know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You want to know how I stay calm?” But Natasha’s hand was already on her gun, and a quiet swish to her right told her Fury had reached for his weapon too.

            “Dr. Banner,” Steve said calmly before things could go any farther, “put down the scepter.” The tension in the air was almost electric as Bruce looked down and realized that he was indeed holding the scepter. No one moved, unsure what to do, but then a beeping came from the computer running the Tesseract tracking algorithm.

            “Got it,” Fury said while Bruce hurriedly put down the scepter and walked over to the computer.

            “Sorry, kids, you don’t get to see my party trick after all,” he said bitterly. Not bitter that he wasn’t going to transform after all, of course, but it was the tone of someone who was beginning to regret saying what they’d just said.  

            “You’ve located the Tesseract,” Thor said, and suddenly the quibbling erupted again, this time about where the Tesseract belonged, where it should go, what they would do, how they would get it, who would go. Natasha rolled her eyes. The testosterone in the room was stifling.

            But among that, with the continued beeping of the computer, Bruce’s quietly horrified voice stood out. “Oh my god,” was all he said, as he looked up at the others. None of them even had a moment to question what he meant before an explosion erupted through the helicarrier, rocketing up through the vented floor of the lab and blasting Natasha and Bruce through the windows.

            Natasha landed hard on a metal floor, surround by falling debris and with Bruce coming down somewhere beside her. They had ended up on a low platform over some kind of storage area on a floor below the lab, and her leg was pinned under a fallen hunk of metal. Her ears were ringing from the explosion, but in her earpiece, there was sudden chatter. When she heard Fury say her name over the com, she immediately tried to focus and clear her head “We’re ok,” she said, her voice hoarse. Then she looked over at Bruce. He didn’t seem injured, but he was clenching and unclenching his fists, his body tensing and straining, and suddenly Natasha wasn’t so sure. “We’re ok, right?” He didn’t respond. “Doctor?” He groaned, and Nat knew what was coming. She knew she had to quell his emotions, fast, else they’d be playing right into Loki’s hands. Not to mention she’d be in an incredibly dangerous situation. “Bruce? You’ve got to fight it. This is just what Loki wants. We’re gonna be ok. Listen to me,” she continued, her voice breaking with exertion as her lungs tried to return to their normal functioning level after having had all the air knocked out of them.

            “Are you hurt?” a voice rang out, and she looked up to see two maintenance men coming toward them through the rubble. Added variables would not help right now, so she urgently waved them away. Comprehension dawned on their faces and they wisely turned and ran.

            Natasha turned back to Bruce, but he struggling even more now. “We’re going to be ok, alright? I swear on my life, I will get you out of this. You will walk away and never ever-“

            But Bruce turned toward her. And he wasn’t entirely Bruce anymore. “Your life?!” he shouted, his voice much deeper, louder, and more gravelly. His skin was beginning to turn green and his muscles began to expand, ripping through his clothes.

            There was nothing she could do to stop it now, she realized, and survival instincts kicked it. But to get away from him, she had to wrench her leg out from under the rubble. Bruce writhed and rolled off the platform, growling, and then for just a moment, he turned and looked at Natasha. “Bruce?” she said, in one more desperate attempt to help him retain his mind. There was still something human in those eyes.

            And then it was gone. With a mighty roar, the Hulk was entirely unleashed. He struggled to his feet and stumbled away from her, continuing to roar and bashing in some kind of tank which began spurting steam. Natasha continued to struggle with her leg, finally freeing it and scrambling up. She paused to look in horror at the creature before her and some part of her brain registered why Bruce would put a gun in his mouth, having to live knowing that this was inside him. The Hulk looked back over his shoulder and saw Natasha on her feet, then let out another great roar and began to charge toward her. She turned and dashed up a metal stairway, but before she reached the top, the Hulk ripped the stairs right off the floor. She leapt and grabbed onto the rail of the balcony above her, pulling herself up and running along a metal catwalk as the Hulk pulled out pieces of it below her. At some point, he must’ve come up against some sort of barricade, because for a couple minutes, she lost him. She kept running, but Natasha was unfamiliar with this part of the helicarrier and she didn’t know how to get out and to another level. She slowed down then, opting for stealth over speed, and pulled out her gun, comforted by the feel of it in her hands despite the knowledge that a bullet wouldn’t even dent the Hulk. Turning this way and that, she listened hard for any approaching footsteps.

            Out of nowhere, there he was roaring. In an instant, her gun was leveled at him, out of instinct, but she reminded herself it wouldn’t do anything, and shot at a pipe above the Hulk’s head instead. It released a hiss of steam, enough to obscure his vision and probably painfully hot. She turned and began to run again. By this time, the shock had been in because of the explosion was wearing off and the leg that had been pinned under the fallen metal was beginning to throb, pain shooting through it with every limping step. The Hulk gave chase, and for his size, he was incredibly fast. He smashed through glass and metal like it was nothing, catching up with her in mere seconds and slamming his hand into her, throwing her hard against a wall. For the second time, the air was knocked from Natasha’s lungs. Her body was in agonizing pain and as the Hulk advanced on her, she realized she was feeling something she hadn’t felt in years: real fear.

            This wasn’t something she was ever trained for. None of this was. It wasn’t just human violence. This was monsters and magic. This was aliens and war. She was a spy, not a soldier, and certainly not trained in _X-Files 101._ And for the first time in a very long time, and much to her shame, she was truly scared.

For a second, her instincts told her to call out for Clint – the only partner she’d ever really trusted to have her back no matter what. But she pressed her lips together. She wasn’t going to cry for someone to come save her. She struggled to her feet but the Hulk had her cornered. There was nowhere to go. But she couldn’t die now. She still had debts to pay. She still had to save Clint. She’d sworn that she would. She had to free him from Loki. She had to get out of this.

The escape plan her mind gave her was stupid at best, but it was her only option. The Hulk swung to hit her and she dashed forward, dodging his blow by leaping at the last second, bracing her foot against his arm and attempting to vault over him. But her injured leg failed her, and the Hulk reached up and grabbed her ankle before she could leap away from him. His grip broke bones and she cried out but it was nothing compared to the pain when he whipped her forward like a rag doll, smashing her into the ground.

            She would’ve screamed but the sound that escaped from her lips was a squeaky whimper – all her body could muster as several of her ribs broke and one punctured her lung. The pain was blinding and she couldn’t move even when the Hulk reached forward and wrapped his hands around her neck, choking her. Tears leaked from her eyes as she gasped for air. _No, I’ve got to… save Clint…_ she thought, angry at herself. But darkness was creeping into the edges of her vision as her brain ran out of oxygen and consciousness began to slip away.

            Natasha didn’t believe in luck. She believed in skill and human stupidity, and that those two things were what put anyone in any situation they ended up in. It was her own fault that she was probably going to die. It was her own stupidity and her lack of skill. Still, for a second, she hoped that maybe she would be lucky today: that once she was unconscious, the Hulk would leave her be. That he wouldn’t keep squeezing until there was no life left in her body.

            But Natasha Romanoff wasn’t lucky that day.


	2. Chapter 2

_A short time earlier…_

            Clint knew his orders backward and forward. They repeated themselves in his brain like a mantra. He knew he’d hit his mark perfectly even before the explosion, though Loki’s mind control did not allow room for him to take any pride in his work. When the arrow exploded, sending a ridiculously disproportionate blast through one of the helicarrier’s engines, Clint merely nodded to himself grimly. That was one step complete. Time to move on.

            The plane he was in landed on the carrier and he immediately leapt out, his compound bow and arrows slung over his shoulder, and a group of armed fighters behind him. They were not under the control of the Tesseract, but were rather merely recruits, directed to follow Clint’s orders. He led his squadron to a venting panel in the helicarrier’s surface while other crafts landed and spilled out more black-clad soldiers, all splitting off into groups to begin the siege and retrieval mission. One of his men kicked in the panel easily and threw down a rope, the soldiers dropping down into a service hallway before Clint himself. “Keep that engine down,” he ordered, sending a few of them off in the direction of the blast to prevent any attempts at repairs. “Detention, wait for the cameras to go dark,” he told another few. They would head for where Loki was being held and cause chaos to avert a lockdown so that once Clint had carried out his next steps, he could come and free their alien overlord. To Loki, the soldiers were less than pawns and not to be trusted with the actual prison-break. Only Barton, under his watchful control, would be trusted with that.

            Clint then turned and headed toward the bridge, telling two soldiers to stay close. It was essential that these next steps be carried out precisely. They made their way quickly through the labyrinth of service hallways, the map of which had been all but burned into Clint’s brain. There were no armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in these halls yet, but mechanics and maintenance workers darted down the halls here and there. These were gunned down mercilessly by the soldiers, or felled by Clint’s arrows. He fired without hesitation and then retrieved the arrows unceremoniously as he stepped over bodies still in the last twitches of death. They didn’t matter to him. It was only human life, and human life was not valuable (so the Tesseract’s influence had him believe). He had his orders, and they included to put down anyone who stood in his way or posed a threat to the success of his mission. Clint would not be stopped.

            Eventually, he split off from his soldiers, ordering them to take a more direct route to the bridge while he accessed a little-used hallway with several openings that overlooked the area. On his way, he heard another explosion, this one indicating that the grenade had been set off in the bridge. Sure enough, when he reached the openings through which he’d be shooting, there was already chaos. Director Fury and Agent Hill wrestled with soldiers while S.H.I.E.L.D. techies and navigators fled. He could also hear distant roars and some part of his brain processed these as indicators that the Hulk was indeed loose within the carrier, just as Loki had planned. Good, the plan was going like clockwork. Clint picked a suitable window and lined up his shot, while Fury and Hill became engrossed in shooting down any hostile trying to come through the main hallway to the bridge. Fury was determined not to allow anyone through, and this is when Clint loosed another explosive arrow, blasting several navigators off their chairs, and tearing a chunk out of the wall. He fired another, clearing more people away from the computer equipment. Once he had a clear shot, he knocked a specially-designed arrow and fired it with precision and accuracy that would’ve made an Olympic marksman swoon. It was a crucial shot, needing not only to hit its target exactly but to hit at the right angle, which it did. That was, after all, why Loki has selected Barton for this job anyway. The arrow was loaded with microchips carrying a powerful hacking program that would shut down another one of the helicarrier’s engines. As the program engaged, Fury realized where the arrows were coming from and turned to take a few shots himself, but Clint ducked away back into the hallway. Another step complete. Next, the rescue itself. He turned and headed for the detention level. The hallway began to tilt as another rotor went down, and he shifted his weight to keep his balance, continuing on his way. Everything was going according to plan.

 

* * *

 

 

            When the first explosion had rocketed through the helicarrier, it had thrown Thor into the hallway beyond the lab. As the dust settled and he picked himself up, he found that he’d been blasted away from his companions, and heard people shouting that the helicarrier was under attack. _Does this have something to do with Loki?_ he wondered. He wasn’t sure how it could, but then, he was still getting used to Midgard. If what the others had been saying was true, about what Loki had been doing since he arrived on Earth, then Thor supposed the explosion _was_ probably thanks to him, or at least thanks to his planning and use of the Tesseract. People were running around, looking panicked, and Thor began to understand. There were indeed warriors aboard the craft, but many of the others were not there for combat purposes. They were workers, engineers, pilots, and above all, innocent in this mess that Loki was causing. Thor did not want any more innocent people to die for the sake of Loki’s scheme.

            He was about to head to the detention center where Loki was being held when suddenly, from below him, he heard a mighty roar. _To what beast does that belong?_ He wasn’t sure, but he was rather certain that a creature with that great of a roar was probably a worthy opponent, so that was where he would go. Two men with guns and the crest of the S.H.I.E.L.D. clan ran passed him and he stopped them, holding his arm out. “Tell me, how do I get down to the level below this?”

            They looked at each other. Though they had the composure of trained agents, they still looked a little bit shaken. “Don’t go down there, Banner is down there,” one said urgently.

            “It’s not Banner anymore,” the other yelled at the first one, “it’s the Hulk, and he’ll tear this place apart!” The man looked at Thor. “If you want to go down there, there’s a staircase down this hall and to the left, but you’d have to be out of your mind to go up against the Hulk.”

            “The Hulk, what is it?” Thor asked them.

            “Banner when he’s angry,” the first one said.

            “A monster!” the second one shouted at the same time. Then they turned and continued to run down the hall in the opposite direction.

            Thor turned and ran the other way, finding the stairs. He was starting to put it together from bits and pieces of the earlier conversation. The man called Fury had been telling Dr. Banner to step away from the situation, presumably to keep him from experiencing great stress. Stark had suggested letting Banner “let off a little steam,” and Rogers had indicated strongly that doing that would put them all in danger. Banner himself had said that his being here would endanger the lives of all on the helicarrier. Thor hadn’t understood it at the time, as Banner seemed to be an honorable and intelligent man, but what the others had been implying was that when Banner was angry, he changed into some sort of very destructive creature. It was just the sort of challenge that Thor liked, and it seemed imperative that the creature be subdued.

            The staircase let out into another labyrinth of halls, but it wasn’t too difficult to hear the roars and sounds of metal being ripped apart. Thor did his best to navigate through the maze, drawing closer to the sounds. He found a point where he could hear what he presumed was the angry Banner on the other side of a wall. Since he didn’t know where to go to get into the adjacent room, he instead took a running start at the wall where the sounds were coming from and crashed straight through. Sure enough, he slammed right into the creature, taking them both straight through another wall. With the speed and the debris, he didn’t see Natasha’s broken body laying slumped against the first wall he’d torn through.

Both he and the creature tumbled to the floor in the next room, some sort of storage area for the smaller flying crafts. It was full of people who all immediately began to run in the other direction. Thor pushed himself up and looked at the creature that was apparently Bruce Banner. He was huge and green, with massive muscles and a mean face. Definitely a challenge. The battle would be glorious, Thor was sure, but if this was indeed the Dr. Banner, Thor didn’t want to hurt him too badly. He was a valuable asset to the team, and it didn’t sound like it was his fault that he became this creature. Anger could bring out the worst in anybody. He decided not to use Mjolnir unless it was absolutely necessary. Perhaps he’d be able to reason with the creature, and if he could be calmed, perhaps he would transform back into Dr. Banner.

The Hulk locked eyes with Thor and roared, intent on attacking. They circled each other for a moment and then the Hulk began swinging. Thor dodged two punches and then threw one of his own, catching the creature across the jaw. The Hulk swung around, and brought his fist down toward the god of thunder. Thor caught the blow against his left forearm, indeed impressed by the Hulk’s strength. He brought up his other arm to hold off the giant green fist as the Hulk bore down on him. “We are not your enemies, Banner,” Thor said, “Try to think!”

Unfortunately, the Hulk did not want to think, and instead brought his other fist around for a blow to Thor’s ungaurded torso. Thor was thrown back through several metal storage containers, but instead of wincing, he smiled. He hadn’t faced an enemy like this since Loki had sent the Destroyer. This was the sort of battle Thor delighted in, he practically lived for this. This was definitely an opponent worthy of fighting with Mjolnir, so Thor held out his arm and summoned his hammer to him. The Hulk came running toward him and was almost upon him when Mjolnir leapt into Thor’s hand, and he swung the mighty weapon around, again catching the Hulk’s jaw, this time sending him flying into one of the aircrafts. The Hulk’s body mass and density were so great that the craft buckled and bent almost in half. The green creature roared in fury and ripped a wing off the plane, and sent it flying at Thor who was already on the charge. Thor bent his knees just in time, bending back so that the hunk of metal flew over him and then he gave Mjolnir a mighty throw. The Hulk reached up to catch the hammer and was probably surprised when instead of stopping in his hands, it dragged him back and he fell to the floor. He rolled over and tried to pick it up, first with one hand and then with both, but Mjolnir was not meant to be wielded by the Hulk, and instead the force exerted caused the Hulk’s feet to begin to crunch through the concrete floor. Thor took the opportunity of the Hulk’s distraction and launched a kick at his face, knocking him away from the hammer, which Thor then picked up easily. He leapt onto the Hulk’s back and brought the hammer around the creature’s neck.

The Hulk struggled and then leapt upwards, sending them both crashing through the ceiling to the next floor up. Thor had to admit that the battle was starting to wear on his body. Before he had a chance to get up, the Hulk had wrapped his giant fists around the Asgardian and started throwing him around, bashing him into the floor and walls. Had Thor not been a god, his body would’ve broken as quickly and easily as Natasha’s had. The Hulk threw him against a wall and then came toward him to beat him some more, but then Thor heard the sound of Midgardian guns and the Hulk turned around. A craft was hovering outside the window of the helicarrier and had begun to fire at the Hulk. Thor’s strength was slightly drained but he had enough to summon Mjolnir and launch at the Hulk for one more attack. If he hit the right way, he might be able to make the creature lose consciousness. He gave Mjolnir a powerful swing, hitting the Hulk in the side of the head. Thor tumbled to the ground again, but so did the Hulk, landing in a heap. Thor rolled over and with considerable effort, pushed himself to his feet. He could see that the Hulk was definitely still breathing, but the attack seemed to have worked. The creature was unconscious.

Thor turned to the aircraft that was still hovering outside the window, the pilot inside looking shocked. “Tell the Furious one that Banner has been subdued!” he shouted. The pilot couldn’t hear him, but he relayed to Fury that Thor had knocked out the Hulk on Research Level Four. As Thor looked on, the Hulk began to change, shrinking, and his flesh returning to a normal Midgardian color. Eventually, the person lying before him was Dr. Banner. Thor was glad he didn’t seem to have damaged the doctor permanently, and he hefted the man over his shoulder, deciding to look for a healing ward. He understood that doctors were the equivalent of healers, and perhaps there were others on the ship that could make sure Banner would be ok.

 

* * *

 

 

            Clint found his way to the detention center and the holding cell quickly, thanks to the map of the helicarrier that was stamped into his mind. He continued to take out anyone who stood in his way, and when he reached the opening to the room with the cell, he fired another hacker arrow at the console that controlled the lock. No use in wasting time. “Ah, Barton, right on time,” Loki said. The arrow made short work of unlocking the controls so that all Clint had to do was push a button and the door to the cell opened. Loki stepped out regally. “Good. Go prepare an aircraft for our departure. If anyone else is still alive, call them to retreat. It’s good to have soldiers. And Barton?”

            Clint looked at his commander. “Sir.”

            “Keep using those arrows.” Loki’s smile was wicked.

            Clint nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, before turning and making to head for the surface of the helicarrier while delivering the retreat command through his earpiece and mic.

            Loki followed, but stopped upon hearing a calm but firm voice behind him saying, “Stop, please.” He turned to find one small man with one very large weapon pointed at him.

            It would’ve been a simple task for Loki to order Barton to shoot the man, but Loki didn’t feel the least bit threatened so Clint continued onward through the helicarrier halls, moving swiftly, firing shot after deadly shot. Suddenly, someone came quite literally shooting around the corner, crashing right into Clint and knocking him to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him but ignored the pain, rolled and came up on a knee, knocking an arrow and firing before realizing that he was shooting at Iron Man.

            “Barton?” came Stark’s voice as the fired arrow glanced harmlessly off the suit. Tony had seen Clint in pictures and knew that his eyes weren’t naturally that shade of blue. He was still under Loki’s control, via the Tesseract. “Barton, snap out of it,” Tony shouted. He didn’t want to have this fight. If it had been someone else, a different enemy, Tony wouldn’t have had a problem just shooting them, but he doubted Fury would take kindly to him killing Barton. And then there was Romanoff. He’d already seen what she could do, and from what he picked up from her brief talk of Barton, she _definitely_ wouldn’t appreciate it if Tony took Barton’s life.

Clint did not snap out of it however, instead loading up an explosive arrow. The normal ones would be harmless, but if he could hit a weak point in the armor with an explosive arrow, it might tear at least some of it apart. The suit looked pretty beat up already, so that would help. He fired the arrow, but the helicarrier suddenly shifted as the rotor that Tony had fixed started to level it out. The shot went crooked, ricocheting off the armor again and hitting a wall, detonating. The blast threw them both to the floor but Clint was on his feet before Tony, who was moving a bit more slowly because of the damage to his suit. Though Tony was armored, Clint had the advantage when it came to agility. He leapt forward before Tony had a chance to get up, pulling a combat knife from his booth and crashing into the Iron Man suit, knocking Tony off balance again. Clint wedged the knife into the mouth area of the faceplate, intending to pry it off.

            “Jarvis,” Tony said inside his helmet, “calculate thrust power for a non-lethal blow to the temple. I can knock him out.” He figured that then he’d turn Barton over to S.H.I.E.L.D. and then they’d figure out how to deal with the mind-control thing. He gave Barton a shove, though the archer had already managed to pry up his face mask a few centimeters and that knife had come uncomfortably close. Clint tumbled back, rolling again and looking for another weak point in the armor.

            “Four hundred pounds of force, thrusters at forty percent, sir,” Jarvis replied.

            “We don’t have to do this, Barton,” Tony said aloud. “Give up now.”

            But Clint had not been given orders to surrender. He had been give orders to kill anyone who got in his way. He momentarily sheathed his knife and loaded another explosive arrow, shooting this one at the ground by Tony’s feet. The damage to his suit limited Tony’s ability to fly, so he was thrown back and into a wall by the explosion and in an instant, Barton was on top of him again with that knife, about to shove it through the slightly opened mouth slit of the faceplate and sink it into the flesh of Tony’s neck. But Tony had managed to get an arm across his chest before Barton had pinned him, and when he channeled the thrust power to his glove, he backhanded Clint hard on the temple, knocking him away to slump against a wall. Tony’s visor program indicated that Clint was still breathing.

            “I’ve got Agent Barton unconscious here,” Tony said, patching the feed through to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headsets.

            Fury, who was on his way to Thor’s location with a squad of agents, responded. “There’s a medical lockup on six, take him there. We’ll deal with him when this is done.”

 

* * *

 

 

Fury met up with Thor who had the unconscious Banner over his shoulder. “We’re taking him to the cell,” Fury said gruffly. “We’ll have to move Loki. We can’t afford another mishap like that,” he said. Thor nodded and followed Fury and the squad to the cell. The agents would cuff Loki and move him to another lockup area.

Or they wouldn’t, for when they reached the detention center, the cell was empty. Fury went over to the console and ripped the hacking arrow out of its port. “Damn it,” he said. He jammed the button that opened the cell door. “Throw him in there, Thor,” he said.

Thor did not think that Fury meant he should actually throw the mortal, so instead he set him down inside rather gently. Banner had already gone through quite a beating, he figured.

Fury turned to the agents. “What are you waiting for? Find Loki! Go!”

“Yes, sir!” they said, running off, but their search would not be successful, as Loki was already long gone.

“Coulson!” Thor shouted, having just seen him slumped against the opposite wall, his shirt stained red and a huge gun in his lap.

Fury looked up, punching the button to close the cell door again and then running over to Coulson. It wasn’t good. He knelt down. _Coulson, damn it, why?_ He knew it must’ve been Loki. _Why did you go after him alone?_

“Sorry, boss,” Coulson said, with very sincere regret in his voice, “the god rabbited.”

Fury pulled the gun out of Coulson’s lap. “Just stay awake,” he said firmly, “eyes on me.”

“No, I’m clocking out here,” Coulson said, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

“Not an option,” Fury said, shaking his head.

“It’s ok, boss,” Coulson replied, “this was never gonna work… if they didn’t have something… to…” but before he could finish, Coulson’s eyes lost their focus and he went still.

Fury bowed his head. He knew what Coulson was going to say. The Avengers, they were a mismatched group all fighting for different reasons. If that continued, they would fall apart. But Coulson had known that an attack like this, and maybe even his death, would pull them together. Give them something in common to fight for. A purpose. A thirst for revenge. The director stepped back as two medics rushed to the scene, and Fury watched as they examined the body of a man who had been one of his best, most dedicated agents, and a sincerely good man. _Your death will count, Phil,_ Fury thought. Though it might’ve seemed disrespectful to use the agent’s death as a tool, it was the perfect emotional impact the Avengers would need to get their asses in gear and fight this damn war. He took a deep breath and spoke into his microphone. “Agent Coulson is down.”

“A medical team is on its way to your location,” someone said.

“They’re here,” Fury said, hating to say the next words. “They called it.” There was no response on the com, so he continued. “Stark, Rogers, Romanoff, report to the conference area at the bridge.” He nodded to Thor who was still standing in the cell area, indicating that he was to report, too.

“On my way,” Stark said.

“Me too,” came Rogers’ voice.

Only Romanoff didn’t respond.

Thor and Fury made their way to the meeting place. It was possible that Natasha had lost her earpiece, so he sent the announcement over the loudspeaker too, but she did not come to the conference table. “Where’s Agent Romanoff?” Fury said.

Stark and Rogers looked at each other, neither knowing. “I haven’t seen her since the first explosion,” Rogers said.

That was a bad sign and they all knew it, because she’d been blasted in the same direction as Banner, and Banner had Hulked out and wrought havoc. “Romanoff,” Fury said into his mic. “Do you copy?” Nothing but static. “Romanoff, report.” But still, there was no answer. Fury walked to the edge of the platform and yelled down to the agents who were in the main area of the bridge. “Romanoff is MIA. Find her.”

“Sir,” one of them called back, “we have to make repairs, the computers, the engines, the hull, and we have to track Loki down.”

“We’ve got bodies to collect…” another added somberly.

“The dead can wait!” Fury said angrily. “Romanoff could be alive, and hurt. Find her. Now!”

A few of the agents looked at each other and then said, “Yes, sir,” breaking off into teams to search for Agent Romanoff.

There was little talk at the table while the search took place, though Thor explained how much damage he and the Hulk has caused, and how he had ultimately won. He was not boasting and he might’ve done, as he knew it wasn’t the right time. It had been a glorious battle indeed, but many had died on the helicarrier, and they still weren’t sure if Romanoff was ok. “I think Banner will be ok, though,” he finished.

Tony looked genuinely impressed and Rogers just looked away.

Then, a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Director, we’ve located Agent Romanoff in Storage B,” it said.

“Good,” he said into his mic. But as the others looked on, his face darkened as someone spoke through only to Fury’s com. He closed his eyes and his jaw clenched before he looked back up at Stark, Rogers, and Thor.

“What is it?” Rogers asked.

“Agent Romanoff was with Dr. Banner when he changed,” Fury said. For a moment, there was a heavy silence. “She’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I hated writing this chapter. I'm crap at writing fight scenes. Luckily, next chapter is going to mostly be Clint and Bruce angst, which I am quite good at writing. Comment and let me know what you think so far!


	3. Chapter 3

When Clint came to, he didn’t open his eyes right away. He didn’t know where he was, but he could feel that his arms and legs were strapped down. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was Dr. Selvig working with the Tesseract at the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound... No, he remembered the portal opening too. He remembered Loki appearing and decimating some of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s finest men as though it was child’s play. And then Loki had approached him, with that weird spear. Suddenly there was a flash of blue in Clint’s mind accompanied by a sharp pain. He gritted his teeth, his eyes still shut tight. The Tesseract. That was it. Loki had been controlling him with the Tesseract. Was he free of that control now? Another sharp pain and flash of blue told him that no, the Tesseract was trying to regain control of his mind. He shook his head as though that would help, but it only caused a dull headache under the sharp pains and made him feel a little sick.

            “Barton?” someone said. Clint froze. “Barton, are you with me?”

            Clint opened his eyes slowly. They still had not fully lost the ethereal blue sheen of the Tesseract’s power. Standing over him was a man he recognized from his involvement with S.H.I.E.L.D. It had been quite the event when he’d been pulled from a block of ice. Rogers, was his name. Steve Rogers. Captain America.

            _Kill him,_ came the voice of Loki’s mind-control. _Kill him and anyone who stands in your way._ In the next quick seconds, Clint first went to reach for his knife, and when he remembered that he was bound, started trying to figure out how he could kill Rogers with something else.

            And then he realized that he didn’t want to kill Rogers. That it was the Tesseract and Loki talking, and he didn’t have to take those orders. _I won’t,_ Clint thought, _I won’t kill him,_ and he was met with another blinding pain and flash of blue light in his mind. His jaw clenched and he grunted in pain.

            “Barton,” Rogers said again.

            Clint took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. “Yeah,” he managed to say, but his whole body was tense, straining against the straps that bound him. The Tesseract’s power wrestled with Clint’s mental resolve to force it out of his mind.

            “Try to calm down,” Rogers said, “the Tesseract is powerful, it’s going to take time to flush out its control.”

            For the first time since Loki had taken control of Clint’s mind, he thought about Natasha. Really thought about her – not the history that he’d told Loki, not as a coworker and fellow agent, but as Natasha. Someone he trusted. Someone he wanted to be there right now. Nat would understand what he was going through. She had plenty of experience with head games and psychological manipulation. She was the only one he wanted to talk to.

            Clint took slow, deep breaths, trying to relax his muscles though his skin was glistening with sweat from the exertion. The pain began to recede a little and the blue haze in his mind started to clear, but he knew better than to hope it would all just go away.

            He tried to distract himself, looking around. He was in one of the helicarrier’s medical lockups. Rogers was standing there, looking concerned. “What are you…?” Clint started to ask, but his mind was still a little scrambled. His voice was hoarse, too. Besides when Loki had asked him direct questions, Clint hadn’t talked much while he was under mind-control.

            “We’ve been taking shifts, watching you,” Rogers said. “We weren’t sure what was going to happen when you woke up. Will you be ok for a minute? I need to tell Fury that you’re awake.” Clint nodded, closing his eyes again and gritting his teeth. Rogers turned and stepped out into the hallway, turning his back and speaking through his microphone. “Fury, Barton’s awake. He’s semi-aware but he’s having a hard time fighting off the power of the Tesseract.”

            “A medical team will come to check him out,” Fury responded through his earpiece. “Stay with him. I want the watch shifts continued until he’s fully cleared.”

            “Copy that,” Rogers said.

            The medical team arrived in two minutes to find Clint tense and shaking, his fists clenched, the Tesseract fighting to reassert its power over him. “Natasha,” Clint mumbled through the pain. He just wanted her to be there.

            “You’re going to be ok, Agent Barton,” one of the medics was saying, but Clint would only believe that if it came from Agent Romanoff. The doctors administered several tests, checking his vitals, drawing blood, all the while keeping him strapped down, which was for the best for everyone. But Clint was still waging that battle in his head and finally, they administered a small dose of sedative. It took a few minutes to take effect and overpower the mind-control, but eventually, Clint drifted off into a medicated sleep after calling for Natasha one more time.

            One of the medics came out and walked over to Steve. “Agent Barton is physically healthy. His tests came out fine. But from what we understand of the Tesseract, the power it’s exerting is mental. There’s nothing we can do to eject it from Barton’s mind – that will be up to him. He’s asleep now, but Director Fury wants you and Stark to keep switching off with watch shifts.”

            Steve nodded, checking the time and heading back into the lockup to wait for Tony’s shift to start.

 

* * *

 

 

            Meanwhile, in the detention center, Bruce was just coming around too. Someone had thrown some kind of sheet over him and a pile of clothes lay next to him in the round cell. His head was throbbing, especially at the right temple, and when he sat up it got worse. He pulled the clothes over to him and began to put them on, finally standing to finish pulling his pants up all the way. That’s when he noticed Fury standing stoically outside his cell. “You’re awake,” the S.H.I.E.L.D. director said.

            “Why am I here?” Bruce asked, crossing his arms and staring out at Fury.

            Fury raised an eyebrow. “Well, in case you don’t remember, Dr. Banner, you got very, very angry.”

            “No, I know that,” the doctor said, “I meant, why am I still on the helicarrier?” He glanced pointedly downward.

            “You were already unconscious when we got you into the cell,” Fury said. “Thor’s damn good with that hammer. I imagine you’ve got quite the headache right now.”

            “No kidding,” Bruce said, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Then he looked up at Fury again. “How bad was it?”

            “The fight? That explosion took out one of engines and we almost dropped right out of the sky. Dozens are dead, even more injured, Loki’s gone and we still have no lead on the Tesseract,” Fury said, but Bruce shook his head.

            “No, I mean me,” he said darkly. He locked eyes with Fury. “How many people?”

            Fury held his gaze. “Are you sure you want to know the answer to that, Dr. Banner? Because I won’t sugarcoat it.” Bruce’s continued glare clearly indicated that yes, he wanted to know. Fury sighed. “You did billions of dollars worth of damage to S.H.I.E.L.D. property, for one thing. But, as far as we’ve found, none of the helicarrier’s personnel ended up in your path. And you gave Thor a pretty sound beating, but he repaid that in full.”

            Bruce touched his temple, which was still throbbing. “Thank god,” he muttered, grateful that Thor had been able to knock him out before he’d hurt anyone.

            “But, there was one person…” Fury started.

            “You said no personnel got involved,” Bruce said, suddenly worried.

            “She wasn’t personnel. She was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. A spy. Natasha Romanoff was with you when you changed.”

            Bruce scrunched his eyes shut. Natasha, right. He remembered her being there, pinned under some debris when he’d Hulked out. He hoped she’d managed to get away. But then his brain processed Fury’s use of the past tense in speaking about her. His eyes shot open and he looked at Fury. “No. Did I…?”

            The question was obvious and Fury wasn’t sure how Bruce was going to react, which is why he’d had Banner remain locked up in the cell instead of taken to the infirmary. It would be hard for Bruce to hear what came next, but as Fury said, he had no intention of sugarcoating things. He didn’t look away when he nodded. “Internal injuries, broken bones, asphyxiation, we’re not quite sure which one was the cause of death. But the Hulk,” he said, careful to distinguish between Banner and the creature, “broke her apart. One of our finest, and she didn’t stand a chance.”

            Bruce just stared for a moment and then turned away and walked across the cell, resting his head against the glass on the other side, not looking at Fury.

            “I’ll be back to check on you later, Banner,” Fury said calmly, electing to give the doctor some more time to calm down.

            Bruce barely heard Fury. He was too engrossed in his own thoughts. He had killed Natasha. He’d hurt people before, but now… Natasha had been calm with him. She hadn’t judged him in Calcutta, even though he saw in that one instant that he truly scared her. She hadn’t avoided him or treated him any differently, even after he’d pulled that stupid stunt to see how she’d react. No one else was caught up in his rage and that was good, but the fact that he’d killed even one person because he couldn’t get a damn handle on himself, he couldn’t stand it.

            He hated it. He hated his emotions, he hated the Hulk. He screamed with frustration and beat his fist against the glass. Bruce hated himself. To his core, he hated everything about himself. He wished Thor had just finished him off after he lost consciousness. He wished, for the hundredth time, that putting a gun in his mouth had just worked the first time.

            He had told them, hadn’t he? That it would be dangerous to have him onboard? That his presence would jeopardize everyone’s lives? But had they listened? No! They had brought him along anyway, Tony had continually goaded him, and though he had a handle on it, the explosion had jarred his poise. And now Agent Romanoff was dead because of it. “Damn it!” he shouted, hitting the glass again.

            And then he suddenly remembered what Fury had said to Loki about the glass. That if the god so much as scratched it, it would instantly, automatically plummet from the carrier. _Thirty thousand feet, straight down, in a steel trap._ It would be enough to kill anyone. Maybe even the Hulk. For Bruce, there wasn’t even a question of whether or not he should do it. He’d come to the realization a long time ago that everyone would be better off if he was dead, but given that the gun hadn’t worked, he hadn’t really ever had a method of doing it. Until now. Especially if he could manage to remain calm enough to stay human for the whole fall. It was a one-way express ticket to the end of the line. _Finally,_ he thought. _A way out._

            He slammed both of his fists against the glass as hard as he could. _I tried to be good,_ he thought. _I tried to help people._ He hit the glass again. _I tried to make it right. I tried to be worth something._ As he pounded on the glass, the cell didn’t even budge, so he began to throw himself bodily against it instead, putting all his strength into it. _I didn’t choose this! I didn’t want to be a monster! But that’s all I’ll ever be!_ He kept throwing himself at the glass until he was out of breath and probably had a few new bruises forming. For some reason, it wasn’t working. “A monster!” he screamed, still pounding on the glass. “I’m a monster!” But the cell wouldn’t budge and finally, he slumped to the ground against the glass, cradling his face in his hands, dry sobs shaking his exhausted body.

            “You’re not a monster, Dr. Banner,” came a voice. Bruce glanced up to see Agent Hill standing where Fury had been standing a little while before. He met her eyes just for a moment, with a look that said, _Oh, really?_ “You’re not,” Hill said again. “It’s not your fault.”

            “Great,” he said sarcastically, “you can tell everyone that at Agent Romanoff’s funeral.”

            Agent Hill didn’t look mad. She was calm, and standing there in her S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, she reminded him so much of Natasha. He dropped his head again, still shaking, still hating himself. “The control panel of the cell was hacked,” Hill explained in a level voice. “The mechanisms are jammed. That’s why the cell won’t fall.” Bruce didn’t respond. “You can get through this,” she said, more quietly. “We’re all going to get through this.” A pause. “We still need your help, Dr. Banner.”

            And then it was quiet. Bruce didn’t look up for a long time, but when he did, Agent Hill was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

            It was a few hours later when Clint woke up again, the sedative slowly leaving his system. Stark and Rogers had just been about to change shifts, so they were both there. “Up and at ‘em, Barton!” Stark said. “I was beginning to worry I’d done some brain damage with that hit.”

            “What?” Clint asked. There was still a hint of the blue haze left in his head, but for the most part, it seemed that the Tesseract’s control was gone.

            “That’s how we got you back,” Stark explained. “Cognitive recalibration.”

            Rogers rolled his eyes. “He hit you really hard on the head.” He leaned forward and began unbuckling the restraints holding Clint down.

            “Ah,” Clint said, nodding, rubbing his freed wrists and stretching his arms while Rogers unbound his legs, too.

            “So, what’s his next move?” Stark asked. He had no hard feelings that Barton had tried to kill him, though even Barton didn’t remember that yet. “You know,” he said, putting his arms up to his head in an imitation of Loki’s helmet, “Reindeer Games.”

            Clint didn’t remember a lot of what had happened, but some vague images were beginning to resurface. The car chase from the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound. Selvig working with the Tesseract. Soldiers. Stuttgart. And then moving through the helicarrier. Shooting down man after man. The memories hurt physically, and Clint closed his eyes and held his face in his hands, trying to push the pain away. But he couldn’t stop remembering. He looked up at Stark and then Rogers. “How many agents did I kill?” he asked bluntly.

            Stark pressed his lips together. There was no clever comment that would be a good response to this, so it was Rogers that answered. “Don’t think about it like that, Agent Barton. You were under mind-control. You couldn’t stop yourself.”

            “I don’t care,” Clint said angrily, “just-” and then another memory resurfaced. It was from Stuttgart. Loki’s distraction. When Clint had been retreating with the iridium for Selvig, he’d seen S.H.I.E.L.D. craft hovering over the square, and a voice had come over the loudspeaker, telling Loki to drop his weapon and stand down. “Natasha,” Clint said. “Where’s Agent Romanoff?”

The atmosphere in the room hadn’t exactly been cheery before, but now the heavy silence was positively stifling. Rogers and Stark both looked away from Clint in different directions. “What?” Clint asked, and after a pause, “Where’s Natasha?!” Rogers looked at Tony, who just slightly shrugged his shoulders, neither sure how to tell Barton. Clint leapt to his feet and though it made his head spin slightly to move so fast after the sedative was just barely out of his system, he grabbed Rogers by the collar. “What aren’t you telling me?!”

“Hey,” Rogers said, grabbing Clint’s wrists, but Clint didn’t let go. He glared at Rogers and took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“Where. Is. Agent. Romanoff?” Clint asked, his voice quiet but piercingly angry.

“Barton,” Stark said solemnly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Agent Romanoff…” But he wasn’t sure what to say. He tried to imagine what it would be like if someone had to tell him that Pepper was dead, and he couldn’t stand even the thought. What could he say to Barton?

Clint looked to Stark, and then to Rogers, and then to Stark again. Their silence spoke volumes. “She’s… is she…?”

Rogers looked away and nodded slightly. “Agent Romanoff was killed,” he said quietly.

Clint swallowed and stepped back, releasing Rogers’ collar. “Oh god,” he said, another thought occurring to him. Under the mind-control, Clint had killed people that he knew worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.. In his eyes at the time, they had been enemies. He could’ve come up against any one of the agents and not hesitated for a second in killing them. In fact, he vaguely remembered now that he’d tried to kill Stark, too. But that wasn’t what he was suddenly fearful of. Had he come up against Natasha in the helicarrier fight? “Did I…?” he asked. He couldn’t even say the words.

“No,” Stark said quickly, hoping that would be some sort of consolation. “It wasn’t you.”

Maybe someday Clint would be able to appreciate the fact that he hadn’t done it, but right now he was still reeling, furious and overwhelmed with grief. “How, then?” Natasha was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most skilled agents. Clint had no idea who could possibly have bested her in combat. None of Loki’s recruited lackeys, that was for sure.

“Banner,” Stark said.

“Not Banner,” Rogers corrected him. “The Hulk. Agent Romanoff had been trying to keep Banner calm but…” They all knew what came after.

Clint’s head was spinning, not from the effects of the Tesseract but from emotions. Natasha was dead. Natasha Romanoff, the one person he actually trusted. The one person who had made him feel not alone. From the second he’d seen her, he’d known there was something different about her. He’d gone against S.H.I.E.L.D.’s orders and refused to kill her. Because she was different. She was beautiful in every sense of the word and though she’d made some mistakes, he had believed she deserved a chance to make things right. She’d given him the same chance whenever he messed up, too. But now she was dead. Maybe he hadn’t killed her with his own hands, but he hadn’t been there to protect her.

“The Hulk…” Clint said darkly, “the Hulk killed her?” Suddenly, Stark and Rogers were very wary of the glint in Agent Barton’s eye. Something snapped in him. This wasn’t mind-control. This was pure fury. “Banner killed her.” Clint headed for the door “I’m going to kill him.”

Rogers grabbed him. “Barton! No!”

“I’ll kill him!” Clint screamed, suddenly in a rage and fighting tooth and nail against Rogers’ grip on him. “I’M GOING TO KILL BANNER!” The Hulk had taken away the one person in the world that Clint had cared about the most. Maybe even loved. Natasha had been the one good thing that got Clint through hard times and now she was gone. And Clint had known how she’d felt about the Hulk. There were few things that scared Agent Romanoff, but the Hulk was one of them. To die like that would’ve been terrifying for her. She died alone and scared. And Clint would make sure that Banner paid for that with his own life.

Though Clint struggled, Rogers was stronger than him and forced him back onto the bed. “We need a medic in here,” Stark was saying into his earpiece urgently as he wrapped the straps back around Clint’s legs. “Now!”

“I’m going to kill him!” Clint was still shouting. His cool composure, the calm way he usually dealt with anger, that was gone. There was no holding this feeling back. There was no stopping it. “I’ll tear him apart!”

Rogers forced Clint’s wrists into the restraints and then he and Stark stepped back as a medic with a syringe of sedative came running in. “No!” Clint was shouting as the medic forced the needle into his arm. “Banner is dead! I’ll kill him!”

Slowly the sedative took effect and Clint slipped under again, even the drug couldn’t keep his sleep from being fitful.

Stark looked at Rogers. “We still have to deal with an alien army, don’t we?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this one isn't as long as the last few. (I'm sorry I'm a lazy writer and didn't want to go into detail about the whole battle in New York!) If everything goes according to my plan, the next chapter is going to be the last one, though to be honest, I'm not entirely sure how the whole thing's going to end yet!

“Barton.” Clint stirred. “Agent Barton. Wake up,” a voice ordered. Clint slowly opened his eyes to see Director Fury standing over him. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, Barton, but there’s still a power crazed demigod out there that we need to bring down and we need your help to do it.”

“Yes, sir,” Clint said, his voice a little raspy. He cleared his throat and made to sit up but found he couldn’t. His arms and legs were still bound by the medical lockup’s restraints. He looked up at Fury.

“Now, Barton, I know a lot has happened. But we need you to be able to put aside whatever you’re feeling and remember who the enemy is,” Fury said. Clint looked away from him and didn’t say anything. He was suddenly very tense. “The enemy,” Fury continued pointedly, “is Loki.”

“Yes, sir,” Clint mumbled, trying to get a handle on his feelings.

“And like it or not, Banner is on your team. We need him with us on this.”  Clint’s fists clenched. “Agent Barton, I need to know that you’re capable of dealing with this situation and focusing on Loki. If we don’t think you can handle it, we can’t send you out there.”

Clint took a few deep breaths. He had learned long ago to shut his emotions down and focus solely on work. In fact, for a long time, that had been all that he was: cold, logical, unconcerned with emotions or feelings. That was until Natasha came along and got him to warm up a little. _Natasha…_ he thought, and suddenly the grief and rage threatened to overpower him again, but he reminded himself what a good agent she had been, how she’d been able to put all else aside for the sake of the mission. What would she think if she saw him like this? That he was being weak. That he couldn’t handle the job. _No,_ he thought. _I can handle this. For her._ To Fury, he said, “I can do it, Director.”

“Good,” Fury said. He trusted his agents, and Barton’s verbal confirmation was all he needed (though if the Council had known about the threats Barton had been shouting just hours earlier, they would’ve wanted the archer locked up for days under hours a psychological evaluation, but Fury just didn’t have that kind of time.) Fury unbound Clint’s arms and legs. “Go get cleaned up and then go to the conference area, we’re going to meet the others there to figure out our next move.” Clint nodded, following Fury out of the medical lockup. “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Fury said, turning and heading in the other direction.

            The Director followed a long series of hallways to a section of the helicarrier that had several bedrooms. They were small and simple living areas, mostly just there for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to rest in when they were off shift and the helicarrier was going to be in the air for a few days. The majority were vacant now as everyone on the carrier was working cleanup after the battle, but a pair of  S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood stoically outside of one. Fury waved them away as he walked up, not bothering to knock. “Dr. Banner,” Fury said, pushing the door open, “what progress have you made?”

            One Bruce had calmed down somewhat, he’d been cleared to leave the cell and shown to this room so that he could work in private. What little of the computer equipment could be salvaged from the lab had been brought here for his use. The guards had been posted outside the room just as a precaution, to notify Fury if anything happened – if Banner changed again. He hadn’t in the few hours that he’d been in the room, though the guards had reported a lot of shouting and crashing noises. When Fury was inside, he realized why. A chair lay on its side and from the marks on the wall, looked like it had been violently thrown there. The mirror over the room’s small dresser was smashed, pieces of it scattered on the floor among the remains of a broken light bulb from a lamp that had been thrown down as well. The room was dark and Banner was illuminated only by the glow of a small computer screen. His eyes were red from crying and dozens of little cuts across his hands, probably from the mirror, were bleeding, but he was engrossed in his work. “I’ve got a lock on the Tesseract now,” he said, not looking at Fury but rather typing in more calculations into the computer. “And I think I might know a way to stop it.”

            “Good, report to the conference area and share with the rest of the class then,” Fury said.

            This made Bruce turn around and look at him. “With all due respect, Director,” Banner said, sounding not very respectful at all, “I don’t think it’s the best idea for me to be around the other agents right now.”

            “Whether or not it’s the best idea, Banner, it’s the only one we’ve got. You’re the expert on this, you need to tell them what they’re up against.”

            “But-“ Bruce began, but Fury gave him a hard look. He knew the risks, but he was confident that Banner could keep it together long enough to explain to the rest of the team what they needed to know. He was more worried about Barton losing it than he was about Banner. Bruce sighed. “Ok,” he said, turning back to his computer. It wasn’t particularly portable but he stored all of his information in a place where he’d be able to access it from other S.H.I.E.L.D. computers, like the one built into the table in the conference area, and then went to follow Fury. “Sorry about the room,” he muttered as he pulled the door closed behind them.

            Fury raised an eyebrow at him and almost laughed. Of all the damage on the helicarrier, and Banner was apologizing for a mirror and a lamp.

 

* * *

 

             Clint walked slowly into the conference area. He was dressed in his normal S.H.I.E.L.D.  gear again – not the costumes Loki’s minions had been wearing – but he’d left his bow and arrows behind for the time being. He was unsure of how his emotions would be tested in the next few minutes, so he figured it would be better if he was mostly unarmed. He pulled up a seat and didn’t saying anything. Tony and Steve were already sitting there, and Thor was there, but not sitting. The tiny Midgardian chairs were too uncomfortable for his big frame. Clint looked at Thor, remembering when he’d almost shot him in Arizona when the Asgardian had been trying to get Mjolnir back. Looking at him now, Clint doubted a regular arrow would’ve slowed him down very much.

            Steve broke the silence. “How are you feeling, Agent Barton?” he asked.

            “Better,” Clint said gruffly. He wasn’t sure if Steve was asking about him being free of Loki’s control, or about how he was dealing with Natasha’s death. Barton would refuse to talk to anyone about the latter, so he added, “At least like I don’t have a psychopath messing with my head.” Thor bristled slightly, but didn’t say anything. There was another pause and Clint said, “Fury said he’s on his way.”

            “So,” Tony began cautiously, wondering if it would be wise to ask Barton again, “do you know what Loki’s next move is?”

            Barton nodded. “He’s going to New York. You know what he’s like. He wants to beat the world and he wants to be seen doing it. He’s headed to –“

            “Son of a bitch,” Tony said, a realization hitting him.

            “-Stark Tower,” said Barton and another voice at the same time. It was Banner. He and Fury were just walking into the conference area. Immediately the tension in the room tripled. Clint locked eyes with Bruce. Tony and Steve looked at each other, wondering if they were going to have to jump in to prevent a bloodbath. Clint’s fists clenched and he immediately knew it was a good thing he hadn’t brought his arrows because he would have had a hard time not lodging on in Banner’s chest then and there.

Bruce looked away first. It didn’t take the murderous look in Barton’s eyes for the doctor to know that Barton wanted to kill him. He didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t have been surprised or angry if Barton took him down right there. But he had a job to do and though Clint was clearly wound tighter than a spring, he didn’t move from his seat. Thor spoke, somewhat oblivious to the tension. “I am glad you are well, Dr. Banner,” he boomed. “We had a great battle.”

“Ah, yeah,” Bruce said awkwardly, “um, thanks.” He cleared his throat and logged himself into the computer in the conference area’s table, bringing up a diagram of the Tesseract and Stark Tower on each of the screens. “Loki’s taking the Tesseract to Stark Tower,” he repeated, “presumably with Eric Selvig to manipulate it. You know the rest. Loki’s alien army. They’re almost at the tower now.”

“We need to move now, then,” Tony said.

“And what?” Clint asked. “He’ll have it set up before we get there, surely. Does anyone know how to destroy the damn thing?”

“Actually,” Bruce said, “I have a theory about that. I’m sure Loki took his scepter back, but not before I could run a few tests on it.” He brought up an image of the scepter and moved it toward the image of the Tesseract. “It’s not powered by the exact same energy that the Tesseract uses, but they’re similar. In theory, getting them near enough to each other might cancel the energy out. Hopefully, that will close whatever sort of door the Tesseract opens.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us, Agent Barton?” Fury asked.

Clint shook his head. “Just that Stark’s right. We need to move fast.”

“Ok, I want you five on your way to New York now. Barton, you can fly one of our planes, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Clint said, rising immediately to first get his arrows and then head for the deck of the carrier.

“Wait, five?” Banner said to Fury. “I’m only here to consult, remember?”

“Looks like you’ll be suiting up with the rest of us,” Tony said.

“Look, Stark, I told you, I don’t get a suit of armor, and anyway,” he lowered his voice as Steve, Clint, and Thor headed away, “I’ve caused enough damage already.”

“We’ve got an alien army about to invade the planet,” Tony said.

“I think you could stand to do a little more damage,” Fury completed Tony’s thought. “Go, Banner. You have a chance to do some good here.”

Banner looked at Fury. Do some good? All he ever did was cause destruction and mayhem. Would fighting off aliens really make up for anything that he’d done? Would it make him hate himself less? Could he actually use this curse for something helpful? He glanced at Tony who nodded encouragingly, and then took a deep breath. “Ok, yeah,” he said, hesitantly but with a tone of resignation.

“Good man,” Tony said, clapping him on the back and they walked away, Tony to get his suit and Banner to hitch a ride on the plane that Barton was going to be flying. That would go well, he was sure.

Fury watched the Avengers walking away. It was a rag-tag team but he sincerely believed they could do it. “Turn us toward New York,” he said through his com to the helicarrier’s navigators. “We’ve got a world to save.”

 

* * *

 

 

            _The ensuing battle raged for hours. Many civilians died, though fewer than would have if Loki had been allowed to continue with his plan. Iron Man and the Hulk had ripped through the Loki’s alien army with devastating impact while Hawkeye coordinated their efforts from above, keeping an eye on the patterns and movement of the Chitauri. Thor directly engaged his brother, desperate to make him see sense. Captain America confronted Dr. Selvig, who couldn’t turn the Tesseract off, but confirmed that using Loki’s scepter would shut it down. With some help from Thor and the Hulk, the Captain retrieved the scepter and successfully stopped the Tesseract, but not before the Council ordered a nuclear strike on New York._

_Iron Man bravely took the missile through the doorway that the Tesseract had created and directed it at the Chitauri’s controlling ship, almost losing his life in the process. When the ship was destroyed, the remaining Chitauri collapsed in the ruined streets and though it had seen better days, New York was saved. Hawkeye cornered the thoroughly beat Loki in Stark Tower and held him under the threat of an arrow through the eye socket until Loki could be locked up and taken away. The Avengers saved the world, and though it was a hard-won victory, harder things were still to come._

* * *

 

 

            In the following days, S.H.I.E.L.D. began releasing the bodies of its fallen agents to their families for burial. A general memorial service was held for all of the fallen in the debris of New York.

            Phil Coulson’s funeral was attended by almost every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in the country at the time. The Avengers were there as well. Thor had insisted on attending before leaving with his prisoner and the Tesseract in tow. Tony had flown in the late agent’s cellist girlfriend from Portland for the service. Many people stood up to give speeches about how great of a man Phil had been, and how devoted he was to his cause, Thor’s speech moving most of the people to tears. The National Anthem had been played as Phil was buried.

            Natasha Romanoff’s funeral was a much smaller affair. There was no family for her body to be released to, so Nick Fury and Maria Hill planned her funeral themselves. The infamous Black Widow was buried in a simple black dress with her trademark belt around her waist and roses surrounding her. Far fewer people attended, as being a spy depended on having few people know who you actually are. Thor had already gone back to Asgard, but Tony and Steve stood in attendance with Fury, Hill, and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as Natasha’s black casket was lowered into the ground.

Bruce, unable to face what he’d done, didn’t come.

Neither did Clint.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple warnings here: mentions of suicidal thoughts, as well as fairly copious foul language. Clint's got a Sailor's mouth when he's angry or drunk.

When they’d asked him where the Avengers were now, Fury had told the Council that he wasn’t currently tracking their whereabouts. It was only partially true. He wasn’t tracking Stark or Rogers because it was pretty obvious that Stark was in the process of rebuilding New York’s Stark Tower, and with the plans to make it a sort of “Avengers Headquarters,” Steve was there more often than not, too. As for Banner and Barton, Fury knew more or less where both of them were anyway. He didn’t constantly check up on them or keep them under surveillance, and he didn’t want the Council, the media, or the general public pestering or harassing the two men, so he kept their locations between him and his informants only. Barton had high-tailed it to one of his safe-houses in the mountains, and Banner had jetted off to a tiny African village to do medical work with missionaries. If the need ever arose for Fury to call either of them back in to work with S.H.I.E.L.D., he wouldn’t hesitate, but only if the situation was truly dire. He had a whole organization of agents and spies and techies and engineers at his beck and call. Banner, Barton, and Stark and Rogers, too, all deserved a break.

           

* * *

 

 

            Clint shoved the door of his small cabin open with one foot while one hand held his bow and the other held the dead deer steady over his shoulder. It was a good haul and would last him a couple weeks. He unloaded the animal onto the countertop and then went back to the door, hanging his bow and quiver on a couple of hooks next to it, and then sliding the heavy metal lock on the door into place. It was more for protection from bears than from people. There weren’t any other people out this far. Clint had settled in a safe-house in the Coloradan Rocky Mountains. It was about 75 miles away from the nearest town. He’d occasionally journey back to civilization for certain necessities (bandages, toilet paper, hard liquor, etc) or to pick up a newspaper so that he wasn’t totally lost as to what was happening in the world, but for the most part, he kept to himself. He didn’t have visitors, and that was fine. He did have a satellite phone in case S.H.I.E.L.D. ever needed him, but it never rang. Clint was alone, and alone was how he dealt with the grief that threatened to overcome him.

He spent his days hunting game for food or training with targets on trees. At night he would pore over maps and books of information about the area. He got to know all of it by heart, but with no television or internet or missions to keep him busy, he had to occupy his mind other ways. If he didn’t focus on something mental, he would often find himself sitting in the one armchair and flipping his combat knife around in his hands. Eventually, he’d feel the need to use it and the rips in the fabric and scars on the chair were a testament to the times when he hadn’t been able to hold back the feelings anymore. He’d carve into wood, into cushion, into the game he brought back on hunting days. The desire would even strike him now and then to use that knife to carve into his own flesh. Maybe the pain would settle him down, give him something to focus on when the thoughts wouldn’t go away.

            Some days, he didn’t think about her at all. Clint had been trained to shut down his emotions and clear his mind, and so he would immediately push away any thought of her the moment it occurred to him. These were the good days, or what passed as good. Maybe they were lonely, but it was better than the alternative because some days, she was all that he thought about. Some days, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push the thoughts away. _Natasha would have appreciated that shot,_ after putting an arrow through a pheasant’s eye. _Nat would be rooting for the littler one,_ watching two elk clash horns over territory. _I wish Tasha could see this,_ sitting in a treetop and watching the sun touch down over the mountains in the evening. The red of the wildflowers was reminiscent of her hair and he could see the clear depths of her eyes in the blue water of the snowmelt streams. Some days, she was everywhere. But though the memories were sweet, these days invariably ended in bad nights. Grief, denial, anger, resignation, the feelings would filter through him and wreck him, and Clint would drink, downing bottle after bottle of whatever alcohol he had around and eventually, he’d imagine her there with him. He’d almost see her, leaning up again the counter with her arms folded and that pouty scowl on her face.

            _You’re filthy drunk,_ her memory would whisper to him.

            “So? It doesn’t matter,” he would slur. Clint had never been much of a drinker before because he always hated the thought of his senses being impaired in any way. Turned out that though he wasn’t a lightweight, he would steadily work his way through enough alcohol until he was totally smashed.

            _Yes, it does,_ she would say, disapprovingly. _You look like shit, Barton, you need to get it together._

“Who cares?” he would mumble, taking another swallow.

            _I do!_ Her look would change to concern.

“You’re dead. You’re not real.” Bitterness. Regret. Another drink.

The image of Natasha, born of his drunken stupor, would move closer to him. _You can’t keep living like this, hiding away out here, shutting everyone and everything out. Put the bottle down, Clint. You’re stronger than this._

“I’m stronger?!” and he would jump to his feet as quick as he could manage, screaming at nothing but memories. “I’m stronger?! You’re dead, Tasha, you’re fucking dead because I wasn’t strong enough! I wasn’t strong enough against Loki, I wasn’t strong enough against the Tesseract,” he would slur and shout, “I wasn’t strong enough to protect you!” And then the tears would come. “The one good thing I did, the one good thing I ever did was to not take that shot when they sent me to kill you. The one good thing I did was to give you a chance. But then I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there when you needed me to be there. I left you alone and you died alone and I wasn’t there.”

 _It wasn’t your fault,_ her memory would whisper to him, channeling some part of his subconscious that refused to accept full responsibility for what had happened. Clint knew deep down that Natasha had been a trained agent and that she had known the risks of her mission. Accepting any mission from S.H.I.E.L.D. had always meant accepting the fact that death was a possibility. She had known that, and he had too.

But this rational thinking, the part of him that knew he shouldn’t blame himself for her death, would drown in whiskey and gin and he would end up screaming, “I should’ve saved you!” And usually here, a bottle thrown against the wall would shatter into a hundred pieces.

Sure, the conversations he had with the alcohol-induced memory weren’t always the same, but they usually followed the same pattern. His missed her. She would be disappointed in him. His brain replayed his initial encounter with Loki over and over, trying to figure out what he should’ve done differently, how he could’ve gotten away, not gotten sucked into the mind-control, how he could’ve managed to be there to protect Natasha. Hell, one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had told him that Romanoff had only agreed to come in on the Loki mission when she’d found out that he’d been compromised. If he’d only been smart enough or quick enough to evade Loki in the first place, she probably wouldn’t have even been on the helicarrier. But Clint hadn’t been smart or quick. He’d been weak and she’d paid for it. He so hated himself that he almost couldn’t even stand to live with it. Had he thought about ending it all? Sure. He still had his S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued gun, loaded and waiting for him to make a decision. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe in addition to being weak, he was a coward too. He wasn’t sure what he feared more: knowing how disappointed Nat would’ve been if she could see him give up, or the fact that, on the off-chance there was some sort of afterlife and he met up with her there because of something he deliberately did to himself, she’d kick his ass all over the place probably for the rest of forever.

Of course, all of Clint’s self-hatred, intense and certainly real though it was, only barely masked the fury he still felt at Bruce Banner and Hulk. It was the Hulk’s hands, after all, that had actually… These thoughts, Clint pushed away even more vehemently than the memories of Natasha. He had seen what the desire for revenge could do to a person, and though he wasn’t exactly doing well, he knew that letting himself succumb to that would be far uglier than him holing up in the mountains and getting drunk off his ass every now and then. He still wanted to rip Banner apart, kill him as violently as the Hulk had killed Natasha, but he tried to convince himself that it was better not to. It wouldn’t prove anything, Natasha wouldn’t approve, he didn’t know where Banner was even if he could figure out how to kill the bastard… Clint gave himself these reasons, but they still didn’t seem good enough. So instead he just banished the thought of Banner altogether.

The nights didn’t make anything easier though. Clint didn’t sleep much anymore because when he did, his sleep was haunted. Dreams of himself murdering agent after agent while seeing the whole scene through a sickly sheen of blue and not caring whose blood he spilt. Nightmares of Loki’s cold grip on his arm, his throat, his chest, crushing his bones with the smallest movement, stifling his breath and shifting through his brain like it was child’s play. And the night terrors of watching Natasha being ripped apart by the Hulk. Seeing her face in pain, seeing the fear in her eyes, the tears on her cheeks. Many mornings he would awake with her bloodcurdling scream still ringing in his ears.

But Clint pushed through this way. Out alone in the woods, hunting and training. Not having to fake a smile for anyone, not taking orders, just being alone, he managed. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what else he could do besides wait for S.H.I.E.L.D. to call him back in. Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t. Would he be ready if and when they did? He honestly had no idea. All he could do was wait and see.

Imagine his surprise when he actually got a knock at his door instead of a ring on the phone.

 

* * *

 

 

_Meanwhile…_

 

                        “ _For a man who’s supposed to be avoiding stress, you picked a hell of a place to settle._ ” That was what she had said to him. And he had told her that avoiding stress wasn’t the secret, though there were times that Bruce wished it _was_ as simple as that. After what he’d been through in New York, there was nothing else that seemed even remotely dire enough to truly stress him out. Concern him maybe, worry him even, but not cause him real stress. Mostly he just felt underwhelmed and a bit resigned. There _were_ challenges on the African plain that he hadn’t had to deal with in Calcutta. Cleanliness was even more of a concern here, not to mention the large predatory animals that made missionaries and villagers alike wary and jumpy. But Bruce – or, rather, the other guy – had spent hours fighting an alien army on the streets and rooftops of New York City. A hyena wandering a little too close to camp wasn’t exactly going to strike terror into his heart. Those he worked with were astonished at how easily he kept calm, but it wasn’t that Bruce was some Zen master who was at peace with the world. He had just been drastically desensitized to the feeling of terror.

            That didn’t stop the self-loathing or the depression, though. When he was alone for too long, with too much time to think, his thoughts would become darker than the savannah nights. He would sometimes find himself sitting up alone at night, wishing one of those hungry predators would leap out of the darkness and rip him apart, but he also knew better. If a bullet to the head, point blank, wasn’t enough to kill him, then nothing the wilds of Africa had to offer would stand a chance either. Things would just turn ugly very fast, he was sure, and no one that Bruce was working with had any idea about the other guy. He planned to keep it that way. If he knew of a way to end his life, he might’ve taken it, but it just wasn’t a plausible option, so he tried to not dwell on those thoughts.

            In Africa, he was starting over again, or at least trying to: trying to be a good person, to help other people, to make his life mean something positive. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t forget. He couldn’t forget New York, he couldn’t forget the aliens, the wormhole, the damage that had been done. He couldn’t forget Natasha Romanoff. As far as S.H.I.E.L.D. had been able to deduce, the Hulk really hadn’t hurt anyone else in the helicarrier fight, nor had he injured any humans during the battle in the city. He was grateful for that, but it didn’t atone for what he’d done to Agent Romanoff. Because of his failure to control himself, she’d lost her life. How many lives would Bruce have to save before he felt redeemed? A hundred? A thousand? There was no high enough number. He’d live out his days and never forgive himself. That’s why he hadn’t been able to go to her funeral. No eulogy, no words he could have offered would have made anything any better. He couldn’t face it. He couldn’t even face Agent Barton, and less because Barton wanted to kill him in cold blood than because he knew that losing Natasha had been extremely difficult for the agent. If it was possible that anyone hated Bruce more than he hated himself, it was probably Barton, and Bruce didn’t blame him a bit.

            A year quietly passed him on the Serengeti and though Brue remained largely disconnected from the real world, he didn’t forget about it. He wondered vaguely what the other “Avengers” were up to these days. He’d heard something about a terror threat in the US, and then something more about aliens in London. Nothing in detail of course, just the dregs of information passed by word of mouth from the ports of the big coastal cities to the herders on the plains. And then, for a while, there was no news, no big crises. Bruce decided that this was probably the best time to do something he had thought long and hard about.

            He got up extra early one morning and found the satellite phone that he and his companions used in case of emergencies. Calling early helped to ensure he wouldn’t be bothered, and also there was the time difference to consider. Bruce had kept S.H.I.E.L.D.’s number on file in his head for a long time and when he punched it into the phone, he was redirected from department to department, being asked again and again to confirm and reconfirm his identity. Finally, what must’ve been at least an hour later, he heard a familiar gruff voice on the other end of the line. Director Fury didn’t seem very surprised that Bruce was calling, actually. The conversation wasn’t lengthy. Bruce explained what he was hoping to do, if S.H.I.E.L.D. would give him the information he needed.

            “Are you sure this is a good idea, Dr. Banner?” Fury asked skeptically.

            “No, no I’m not,” Bruce said honestly, “but… I need to do it. For his sake and mine. Closure of some sort.”

            Bruce could almost picture Fury’s expression, his lips pressed together as he tried to decide whether or not to agree to this, but after a long pause, the S.H.I.E.L.D. director just said, “Do you need transport?”

            “No, no, I can take care of that,” Bruce said quickly, “I just need the address.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Now…_

            Clint stiffened at the knock on his door. He didn’t get visitors. This was a safe-house. It was specifically placed to be remote and isolated – that’s why he’d chosen it. Who would show up at his door? There were no neighbors and S.H.I.E.L.D. would’ve just called him instead of making the tedious trek up the mountain. No hikers out this way either. In two years, Clint hadn’t gotten a single knock on that door. Maybe he had imagined it? But no, he paused long enough and the knock came again, slow and deliberate. He approached the door, pulling his quiver and bow off their hooks and slinging them across his back. Then he took his gun from the holster strapped to his thigh. He hadn’t used it all since New York, but he kept it cleaned and loaded just in case – plus he’d learned that strangers took him more seriously when he had a gun than when he had his bow. (Anyone who wasn’t a stranger knew that his arrows would be just as lethal as any bullet). With his gun in one hand and aimed at the door, he slowly slid the metal lock back. Then, after a deep breath, he threw the door open. And standing there was the last person he expected or wanted to see. “You,” he growled.

Bruce Banner’s hand were held up in a gesture of peace. “Agent Barton,” he said quietly.

With his gun still pointed at Bruce’s chest, Clint hit a button on his bow that loaded up an explosive arrowhead in his quiver. He took a step back and in two swift motions, he holstered his gun and armed his bow. “I’m going to kill you,” he said, his eyes locked on Banner’s.

“Barton, look, if I thought that-“ he gestured at the arrow, “-would help, if I thought it would make you feel better, if I thought it would _work,_ I’d encourage you to do it.” He sighed and shrugged. “Hell, I’d probably beg you to.” Clint’s only response was to draw his bowstring back just a bit farther. “But I think we both know,” Bruce continued, “that it would only make a mess. I would make a mess. The other-…” he paused. He was here because of what the Hulk had done. The least he could do in respect for Natasha and acknowledgement of his responsibility was to call the creature as it was, not hide behind that meaningless phrase. “…the Hulk would make a mess. That’s not what I want.” He met Clint’s eyes and took another deep breath. “Not again.”

A muscle in Clint’s jaw twitched. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to let the arrow fly, but something stopped him – perhaps the knowledge that Banner was right. Clint was unprepared to fight, let alone kill the Hulk. If S.H.I.E.L.D. had to construct a steel trap to drop at ten thousand feet to kill the creature, there wasn’t a chance that Hawkeye could do it with rage and an arrow. “Why are you here?” he snarled, barely able to contain his fury.

“To apologize,” Bruce said, and it was true. He couldn’t apologize to Natasha for what he’d done, but he could still apologize to Clint for the devastation. Not that it would help much, but maybe it would give his guilty heart a little bit more rest at night.

“I don’t want your apologies, words are worthless.”

“I know,” Bruce nodded, “I know. Look, nothing I can say, nothing I can do will ever bring Natasha back–”

“Shut up!” Clint shouted, his anger getting the better of him. “Shut the fuck up, Banner! You have no right to talk about her, to say her name, you have no right! She was the best damn agent at S.H.I.E.L.D., she was a good person, she– ” Clint’s jaw clenched as he fought the grief that was quickly rising in him and threatening to spill out of his eyes. He swallowed, forcing the sadness down. “She was a better person than you will ever be,” he said, his voice quieter but still just as angry, “and you, you and that fucking monster, you killed her.”

“I don’t deny– ”

“Why are you here?!” Clint was shouting again, and Bruce just closed his eyes and let the verbal assault fall over him. “Why the fuck would you think it was ok to find me? Why the fuck would you come here? She is dead and it is your fault and NOTHING will ever change that!”

“I know,” Bruce said, waiting for more shouting but when there was only silence, he continued. “And I know that you won’t forgive me, and I know that it won’t change anything, but I am sincerely sorry, Clint. She didn’t deserve to die that way, at the hands of something so brutal. She tried to help me stay myself but… I was weak.” Bruce looked unfalteringly into Clint’s eyes. “It was my fault. I was weak, too weak to control the Hulk, and it’s my fault she’s dead. And I’m sorry.” Bruce dropped his hands and his eyes, ready to accept whatever Clint would respond with, be it accusations or arrows, but neither were forthcoming. He looked up again to see that the archer’s hands were shaking just slightly and he seemed to be holding back tears. “She was worried about you,” he said quietly, hoping to offer some sort of comfort, “the whole time we were on the helicarrier. She kept asking them if they’d been able to locate you yet– ”

“Get out,” Clint growled, his voice thick.

“Clint, I’m–”

“Get out!”

“Ok,” Bruce conceded, taking a step back. “Ok. I’m leaving.” He turned to go and then looked back over his shoulder. “Thanks for listening,” he said. Then he got back in the rental car he’d driven up to the cabin and drove away. The encounter hadn’t gone particularly well, but Bruce couldn’t have hoped for much better. At least Clint had heard him apologize. He knew he would never earn forgiveness, he would never forgive himself, but he would still try.

 

* * *

 

 

            If either of them had been listening, they would’ve heard the sound of a helicopter retreating into the distance. “Call off all units,” Fury said into a two-way radio. “They’re done.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clint kept his arrow pointed at the car, tempted to blow out one of the tires or a window, or the engine, but he refrained and finally, the car was out of sight. With trembling hands, he relaxed the bowstring, disarming the arrowhead and replacing the bow and quiver on their hooks. And then, he sank into the nearest chair and for the first time in a long time, he, being sober, just let himself cry.

 _I’ve found that revenge is never worth it,_ Natasha had once told him. _You get stuck on it, thinking that this will end the pain, this is justice, this is right, this is what I deserve, what they deserve. But it never is any of those things, and it never ends the pain. You just wind up angrier and more hurt and more broken._ Clint remembered it clear as day, as though she was sitting right there next to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. _You’ll never forget, but you have to learn to let go._


End file.
